


a dance for my prince

by chasinggstars



Series: xmasvt [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Christmas Music, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing, Winter, artist minghao cause thats very necessary, chan makes a cameo cause i felt bad, i am guilty of prematurely playing xmas songs, junhui is me and minghao is the rest of my family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasinggstars/pseuds/chasinggstars
Summary: junhui blasts christmas songs all year, but now he has an excuse and not even one very pissed off minghao is going to stop him.
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: xmasvt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073627
Kudos: 39





	a dance for my prince

**Author's Note:**

> have a very merry seventeen christmas everyone!

_“ Santa tell me, if you're really there, don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year—”_

Ariana Grande’s voice rang throughout the small apartment Minghao shared with his boyfriend, Junhui. The song travelled through the paper-thin walls and tightly shut door to Minghao’s room, piercing through the calming jazz music he was blasting through noise-cancelling headphones (worn against his own free will) and worming deep into his brain. Furrowing his eyebrows, he reluctantly turned the volume up as high as he dared without destroying his eardrums. His grip on his paint brush tightened, nearly snapping the worn wood in two, the brush strokes becoming harsher and messier.

The canvas was becoming a hodgepodge of stains, losing all form and order. He was _trying_ to paint an abstract take on a four-leaf clover as Chan’s Christmas present, key word trying, but now it looked more like a couple of blobs in varying shades of green, and not even in the priceless MoMA sort of terrible nonsensical rubbish ‘modern art’.

God _damn_ Wen Junhui. This canvas was supposed to be the last gift he would have to paint until January, having already finished eleven other paintings, but now he had to redo it. All because his stupid boyfriend didn’t know how to play songs at a respectable volume. Or, better yet, how to not prematurely play Christmas songs. Honestly, it was just plain disgusting of an act to torture—sorry, _play_ Christmas songs before December, especially in his vicinity.

All fancy and lowkey pretentious wine-drinking customs be damned, he chugged the remaining half of his drink and slammed the glass down onto the small wooden table on which lay his palette and other artistic supplies. The abhorrent headphones (last year’s Christmas present from Hansol, he never thought he would even _touch_ the detestably chunky and irritatingly convenient Bluetooth headset until today) were thrown onto his bed next to his phone (not forgetting to pause the music).

Taking deep, calming breaths, he shuffled down the hallway to the source of the dissonance. He was going to take control of the situation in a calm, collected manner, he was going to politely request the volume be turned down and then he was going to go back to his painting, content with whatever results he beheld because _at least he tried_. And anyone who had to deal with Wen Junhui before knew that trying was all they could do. Jeonghan was the expert in that area, but rather unfortunately, he refused to engage in any form of unnecessary human contact during holiday season (excluding Christmas and New Year’s Day), let alone placate a wild Wen Junhui at such short notice.

_Breathe in, breathe out_. With a firm grip on the doorknob, he pushed open the magical portal to the natural disaster called Wen Junhui’s ‘study’. And—Oh, dear. The moment he stepped inside, calm and collected went up like smoke.

_“ Wen Junhui I swear to fucking God if you don’t immediately turn off those disgustingly festive songs this instant I will rip your fucking throat out will absolutely zero remorse, and no I don’t care that you’re my boyfriend.”_

And Junhui, oh, Junhui. His boyfriend slowly turned around from his paused game of piano tiles with his adorable puppy dog eyes, clueless expression, and delectably punch-able face.

“Pardon?”

It was at this moment that he knew, one of them was going to emerge from tonight definitely not unscathed. And that someone went by the name of Wen Junhui. As he took large steps towards the unnecessarily large speaker set (another terrible gift from Hansol, he really needed to tell him to tone it down a bit), a look of realisation and understanding flashed across his idiot’s face, dashing across the room to throw his arms protectively in front of his beloved sound system, as if that would do anything to deter Minghao.

“Move that scrumptious ass of yours, Wen Junhui, before I kick it into a deformed pretzel. It’s either the songs or me, your decision.”

To think that Junhui had the _nerve_ to look conflicted. Even more irritatingly, it almost appeared that he hadn’t heard him over the din. _Again_.

That was the final straw for him. He darted forward (superior martial arts skills, thank you very much) and managed to turn the volume down to a respectable volume before he found himself being pulled away from the speakers and into a warm embrace.

“Anything but Tony, please. I beg you,” said a voice next to his ear.

Minghao pulled away from Junhui with an incredulous look on his face.

“Did you seriously name your speaker Tony? Actually, forget that. Did you actually give your fucking speaker a fucking name?”

“Of course, I did! It’s very precious to me, you know.”

“Well, you can stop trying to prevent me from going near… _Tony_. I’m just here to turn down the volume. No one needs to hear Ariana Grande mope about her relationship problems to a fat, paedophilic fictional man, now or never.”

“It’s December first, which means it’s legally acceptable to play Christmas carols now and you can’t stop me,” Junhui replied, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Have you gone insane? It’s still November, you absolute oaf.”

“Not anymore.”

Reaching for his phone, he shoved it right into Minghao’s face, and lo and behold, it was just past one a.m. on December first. Darn.

“Who’s the absolute oaf now?” The confused and conflicted looks were both wiped from Junhui’s face now, and in their place was an all-too arrogant and knowing smirk. As much as he hated to admit it, it was no lie that he found the expression more than a little attractive.

‘White Christmas’ chose that moment to come on, and Junhui wrapped his arms around him once again.

“A dance, my prince?” He gave a slight mock bow and began swaying their bodies together.

“This isn’t a song to dance to,” he muttered, yet he didn’t resist when Junhui twirled him around, completely offbeat.

They danced to the song, the familiar drum of their intertwined hearts and fates, illuminated under the spotlight of Junhui’s crappy lamp and the stars in the background. Their feet tripped and stumbled over each other, missing every beat, erratically jolting this way and that, but it wasn’t like they cared. What truly mattered, the resonating choreography of their love, had never been more perfectly in sync. Minghao’s face crumpled in faux disdain and Junhui’s playful smile, the way both their cheeks were dusted in rose coloured dye from the faint memory of a lightning fast peck on Minghao’s cheek, begging for forgiveness, and the reply given just as fleetingly on the tip of Junhui’s nose.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter [ @chasinggstars_](https://twitter.com/chasinggstars_) !


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